Would You Eat Them in a Box?
by Leahelisabeth
Summary: Sam is out to get some dinner. It only takes a moment for things to go horribly wrong. This is just an excuse to write some gratuitous Sam-in-a-box. Set in season 6 after Mannequin 3: The Reckoning. The title comes from Dr Suess' Green Eggs and Ham.


Sam strolls casually down the sidewalk, enjoying the fresh air. He was alone and that was enough to put a spring in his step. Dean had been hovering around him constantly since he had inadvertently scratched his hell wall and it had taken a good ten minutes to convince him to wait back at the motel while Sam picked up dinner. Sam grinned broadly. He was finally starting to feel like himself again, like his crumpled up soul was ironing out the creases and finally filling him up the way it was supposed to.

The diner was just around the corner when several things happened very fast. He heard a muffled _ftthhhhhwp_ and someone invisible punched him very hard just below his ribs on the left side. He staggered, confused and looked down as a trickle of blood started to soak his plaid shirt. He barely had time to realize that he had been shot before a dark colored van pulled up beside him and a couple of guys that he didn't recognize jumped out, pulling a cloth bag over his head and shoving him through the door. It wasn't until he hit the floor of the van that the pain hit, paralysing him just long enough for them to tie a rope around his wrists and ankles, lashing them together in front of him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he shouted once he got his breath back. His only answer was a vicious kick to the side. Sam choked and coughed, his head spinning and the light coming through the cloth fading to black at the edges of his vision. It took a monumental effort to hold onto his consciousness but he managed to pull himself back.

Someone roughly grabbed the bag over his head and yanked it off, uncaring about the handful of hair that came with it. Sam squinted and finally managed to focus his eyes on the dark figure above him.

"I told you I would find you, Winchester," a menacing man crouched over him. He had a thick, dark beard and a poorly healed scar across his forehead and nose. Sam had never seen him before. "If you tell me where it is, I'll let you go now. I'll even drop you off at the hospital once we go get it."

"The hell are you talking about?" Sam gasped.

The man smirked, calmly drew back his fist and punched Sam in the nose, breaking it with an audible snap. Sam grunted, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a yell.

"You want to play dumb? Fine. I've been itching for a little bit of fun anyway. I was going to be forgiving but now I really think I want payback for what you did to your face," he stood up and gestured to his two goons sitting by the van doors. "Put him in the box. I'll deal with him once we get back to the source."

Sam caught a glimpse of a large wooden crate before they pulled the bag back over his head. They grabbed him by the rope around his wrists and ankles and hoisted him between them, pushing him into the box. Sam tried to fight but he had no leverage and every movement ignited fire in his wounded side. They put him in back first, his ass and shoulders tight against the walls of the box and his neck bent painfully upward so his chin was on his chest. Then they bent his legs, and nailed the lid on top of the box, leaving Sam in complete darkness, unable to move, barely able to breathe with his legs crushing his chest. Sam whimpered and finally let himself slip into unconsciousness.

OooOooOoo

The return to consciousness was worse. His side felt like it was host to an iron hot poker. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to "just move, dammit!" He could not move an inch. His fingers were pushed up tight against the lid of the box and he couldn't even feel his toes. His nose was throbbing and stuffed with blood and he could feel it dripping annoyingly down the back of his throat. To add insult to injury, his bladder was achingly full.

"It's going to be ok. Dean will come get me and he'll rip those guys' heads off," he whispered to himself, breathing as deeply as he could in an attempt to calm himself down. It worked but the only muscles he could relax were the ones keeping his bladder from emptying all over himself. He tried to hold back the tide but it was already too late. His urine soaked his stomach and dripped into his bullet wound. It burned like fire and that was the moment he lost it.

Sam started yelling. He thought he was using real words but he honestly couldn't be sure. Someone kicked the box, sending a jolt of pain to every nerve ending, but Sam couldn't stop, lost to the panic. He didn't even notice when the van stopped and the engine shut off.

Someone pried the top of the box off and Sam tried to kick out but he could hardly move. His limbs were deadened so he couldn't stretch out but even that little bit of release in pressure felt like heaven. Tall, dark, and menacing stood over him with the crowbar.

"Are you ready to tell me where you put it?" He sneered.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know who you are," Sam started babbling between frantic gasps for air.

"Silence!" The man shouted and whacked Sam's shins with the crowbar.

Sam howled, his first tears trickling down his face. "Please…please…stop," he gasped.

The man crouched down closer. "Not unless you tell me what I want to know." He sniffed and recoiled. "Damn kid pissed himself. Clean him up and let's get on the road. I want to make the source before nightfall. And find some way to shut him up. All that screaming is giving me a headache."

Sam heard the engine start again and felt the lurch as they pulled out onto the road. The blood was just starting to return to his extremities and the pins and needles hinted at worse to come. A bucket of water hit him in the face with absolutely no warning. He gasped and sputtered and barely had enough time to recover before another bucket splashed over him. One of the guys roughly grabbed his left foot and tore his shoe off, followed by his sock. A foul tasting and salty piece of fabric was shoved into Sam's mouth and a strip of duct tape was pressed over it.

"That'll do for now," one of the guys laughed before pushing the lid back down, shoving painfully on Sam's badly bruised shins. The pain had been bad before but now, with the momentary release, his limbs were protesting at being returned to their confinement. Sam realized he really had only one choice in this situation. He could puke or he could pass out. It was Dean's voice in his head that made the decision for him. "Sammy, if I find you dead in a crate, choking on vomit and your own nasty-ass sock, I am going to be so fucking pissed." Sam drifted off.

Sam managed to remain no more than half conscious until he felt the crate get tipped on its side and dropped to the ground. The jolt knocked the air from his lungs and he almost passed out again before regaining his air. Thankfully, now being on his side in the fetal position, it was slightly easier to draw breath. Water suddenly came pouring into the crate through the air holes on the side. Rough laughter echoed from outside. The sock in Sam's mouth seemed to suddenly soak up the remaining moisture and he desperately wished he could drink the water that was currently soaking his clothes and hair. Finally, it stopped and Sam heard footsteps walking away and leaving him alone.

It had been overly warm in the van but Sam thought they must be underground now because the cold was starting to seep into his crate. As he started to shiver, he started to remember. He just saw flashes at first.

_Tall, dark, and beardy was clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. His name is Ian, Ian Rutherford and he needs Sam's help on a job._

_There's a map of tunnels spread out on the table. Ian's tracing a path. Sam is nodding and proposing an alternate route. There is a handshake and a hearty laugh._

_Something lurks in the darkness of the tunnel. It attacks with a blur of teeth and claws._

_Ian shouts at Sam, his face laid open and bleeding profusely. Sam turns his back._

_A black gemstone on a thick gold chain fills the palm of his right hand. He closes his fingers around it and turns to leave._

The flashes stop and Sam drops headfirst into a memory.

_"You said we would share the power! I trusted you!" Ian shouted, striding menacingly toward Sam._

_ "Yeah, well, I lied. You had information I needed but you are terribly naïve to think that I ever intended to share this power," Sam sneered. "Besides, you were only planning to take it all for yourself."_

_ "I wouldn't," Ian shouted. "The Amulet of Adramelechk is far too much power for one man to wield."_

_ "That is where you are wrong. I've done it before. I didn't have this amulet to help me focus it and I had to go around drinking demons dry to hold onto it but I'm probably the one man alive who is capable of harnessing this power," Sam laughed._

_ Ian's face paled. "I had heard the rumors but I didn't think one of our own would ever stoop so low, even to kill a demon."_

_ "I'm not one of your own. Do you have any idea how much I would have to lower myself to call myself your equal?"_

_ Ian bowed his head. "Do it then. Put the amulet in the source. Draw the power into yourself. I hope it kills you."_

_ "Do you think I'm an idiot? I'll turn my back and that's when you'll strike. I have nothing but time and I don't need an audience," Sam scoffed._

_ Ian's face contorted in rage and he rushed at Sam and grabbed for the hand carrying the amulet. Sam slashed out with his knife and sliced Ian's forehead to the bone. Ian howled in pain but kept coming but Sam just stood his ground and punched him in the jaw. Ian was down for the count._

_ Sam paused a moment and looked at the source, an eternally burning altar in the center of the room. For a moment, he considered doing the ritual and taking on his power again. He remembered how it had felt to pull a demon out of a host and crush its essence. The temptation was powerful. But he shook his head and slipped the amulet the amulet into his pocket. His conscience may have been extremely quiet lately but he knew enough not to attempt something of this magnitude without figuring out the downside. What if it made him impotent? He shuddered at the thought, remembering the pretty waitress at the diner where they had stopped for lunch. She had been a real looker, a redhead with glasses who gave off that sexy librarian vibe he loved so much and he was willing to bet money that the carpet matched the drapes. Ian stirred and Sam refocused back on the task at hand and turned and walked away, leaving Ian on the floor. He would take the amulet to Bobby's and get him to figure the thing out._

Sam gasped as he snapped out of the memory and back to the pain. He knew that amulet. Bobby had pulled him aside not long after he got back and told him about it and how lucky he was that he had not used it. It did give the wearer the ability to kill and control demons but the fire on the altar burned the wearer from the inside out, turning them into an empty vessel to house the grace of the angel Adramelechk. It would not have destroyed his soul because it had been in Lucifer's cage at the time but it would have left his body unable to receive it and he would have been forced to wander the earth without a physical form.

Sam tried to ignore the shooting pains that jolted from his temples to his feet by recalling all the facts Bobby had told him about this particular amulet but it was getting to the point that he couldn't pinpoint individual agonies anymore. And it was cold and getting colder. If he hadn't been so firmly wedged into the box, he would have been shaking uncontrollably. He could feel the hole to his past opening up in his mind again and he fought hard to remain in the here and now because this hole didn't lead to another soulless memory. The cold and the pain were pulling him back to the place that had flayed his soul for 180 years.

_"I know how much you like enclosed spaces, Sammy. I made these boxes just for you." Lucifer laughed down at Sam where he was staked out on the floor of the cage. "Which one do you want to try first?"_

_ Sam just looked up at him through the tears._

_ "Oh silly me, I forgot! The cat got your tongue," he giggled delightedly and glanced at the corner where a vicious tabby was tearing at a bloody piece of meat. "I guess we'll just start with the biggest one." It was a big wooden shipping crate, about four feet square. It was a tight fit but it was manageable. Lucifer left him for three days._

_ "I heard you liked Raiders of the Lost Ark so I got you your own replica of the Ark of the Covenant, without face-melting action unfortunately." Lucifer pushed him in. This one was a tighter fit. He had more room to stretch his legs but his shoulders were much too broad. Lucifer simply shrugged and took a sledgehammer to Sam's sternum and pushed hard so the two halves of his ribcage folded up toward the center. "Plenty of room." Lucifer only left him there for a few hours but he replaced his mangled tongue inside his mouth so he could hear Sam's desperate cries._

_ The next box was worse, maybe two feet square. Lucifer gleefully pulled out the bonesaw and got to dismembering. After Lucifer removed him and reassembled him he could say definitively that half an hour is far too long to be choking on your own severed foot._

_ "This next box is my favorite, Sammy," Lucifer said an hour later, holding up a green box carved out of stone. Sam closed his eyes, unwilling to even contemplate how Lucifer could possibly fit him inside a box that small. Lucifer cut off his eyelids and frowned disapprovingly. "You didn't ask me why it was my favorite." He reached into Sam's abdomen and tugged on Sam's large intestine until Sam finally gave in._

_ "Why is this your favorite box?" Sam whispered._

_ "Because it reminds me of one of my very favorite jokes! How do you get Sam Winchester in a box?"_

_ Sam knew there was no point in ignoring the devil. "I don't know. How?"_

_ "With a blender!" Lucifer pulled a Magic Bullet out from behind his back then leaned really close to whisper. "And how do you get him out?"_

_ Sam just whimpered and shook his head._

_ Tostitoes rained down from above. "Nachos!" Lucifer shouted gleefully._

_ Sam turned his head away._

_ "Awww, don't ignore me, Sammy! Sammy! Sammy! Sammy!"_

"SAMMY!" Dean appeared as if by magic. "Holy crap, dude. You scared me." He peeled off the duct tape and carefully pulled the soaking sock out of Sam's mouth.

Sam could only stare at his brother and cry.

"Sam, say something. Just let me know you're in there," Dean reached into the box and put his hand on the side of Sam's face.

"Dean," Sam sobbed and turned his cheek into Dean's hand. "Dean."

"Hey, I gotcha, kiddo. I found you. Idiot snatched you in front of a dozen witnesses. It wasn't too hard to get the license plate number and trace you here. He probably thought he was pretty clever, going underground like this but he didn't even cover his tire tracks," Dean rambled on as he tried to figure out the best way to get Sam out of the box. "Hey, Bobby! Come give me a hand. I don't think I can pull him out myself."

Soon Bobby's face appeared by Dean's, a strangely gentle expression on his normally gruff features. "Just hold tight, son. We'll get you out." To Dean, he said, "I think we should just pry the box apart. It'll be easier than trying to pull him out. I'll just get my tools."

"Hurry," Dean said. "I think he was seeing hell. I want him out of there."

He leaned back into the box and touched Sam's cheek again. "Just hang on, Sammy."

Sam drifted then. He was aware when they started taking the box apart. He screamed with the shock when they unbent his pretzeled body and inadvertently opened up his bullet wound. He cried with every step while Dean and Bobby tried to carry him smoothly to the car. He was flirting with consciousness for most of the frantic drive. He could hear Bobby's gruff voice trying to reassure Dean. Dean's voice was more of a feeling as it rumbled in his chest underneath Sam's ear. He was still in his wet clothes but Dean didn't even try to take them off. The leather jacket was nice though, wrapped around him and warming him where Dean could not touch. Dean's hand roamed up and down Sam's body, rubbing and massaging and chasing away the pins and needles that were starting to overtake every limb. Dean's other hand was a rock in his side. Sam tried to ask him to remove it but he couldn't make his tongue form any word but "Dean."

The numbness completely wore off and the pins and needles got worse it felt like all his limbs were on fire. He screamed hoarsely, trying to get away from the pain. Dean shouted at Bobby. Bobby shouted back. The Impala picked up speed. Sam cried and Dean held him.

The Impala stopped with a jerk that made Sam whimper. The door opened and cold air pinched at his bare foot. So many hands were touching him and only two of them were Dean's. Then none of them were Dean's and Sam really really needed Dean's hands back. There was the sharp prick of a needle in his arm and then warmth and oblivion followed.

OooOooOoo

He couldn't move. Everything hurt and he was still stuck. "Dean!" Sam shouted in despair.

"What?" Dean's frantic face appeared above, both hands framing Sam's face and forcing him to focus.

Sam blushed. "Sorry, I thought…"

"It's going to be a little hard to move for a while. Sasquatches are made for wide open spaces," Dean smiled fondly down at his little brother.

Sam shuddered as memory flooded back. "How long?"

"Two days. You were really lucky. The only thing broken is your nose. You're bruised to hell but nothing that won't heal. Bullet nicked your spleen. If they hadn't shoved you in the box you never would have lasted long enough for Bobby and I to catch up to you," Dean lifted a cup of ice shavings from the table by the bed and scooped some into Sam's mouth.

The ice felt like heaven in his parched throat. "You're kidding."

"Nope, damn box saved your life," Dean smirked. "I guess you can stop being afraid of them."

"I think I would rather be dead," Sam mumbled.

Dean looked down at him, not a trace of a joke in his eyes. "I couldn't take it. I just got you back. I am not going to lose you to anything, not to Lucifer or his minions, not to stupid hunters with grudges, not anything."

"I'm not going anywhere," Sam said softly.

Dean looked away and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. "I was kind of bored with you just lying there…so here." He tossed a handful of takeout napkins on Sam's chest.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam picked them up and saw the writing on each one.

_I.O.U._ _1 free chick flick moment._

_ I.O.U. 1 free girly massage for baby Sammy's delicate muscles._

_ I.O.U. 1 free snuggle. Snide comments not included._

_ I.O.U. 1 pretty pretty princess makeover._

_ I.O.U. 1 night to make Dean sleep in the Impala while Sammy fornicates with the woman of his choosing._

Sam laughed. "I love you too, Jerk."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Who said anything about love, Bitch?"


End file.
